


Steel Man in the Shining City -OR- Big Heart from Smallville

by Erukai



Series: United Comics Universe [1]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, First Dates, First Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erukai/pseuds/Erukai
Summary: A city still too small to contain his whole personality. First meetings. Old friendships. Strong morals. A life lived for love.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane
Series: United Comics Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664020
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Something Happened to the Man of Tomorrow - OR - Up, Up, and Swept Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An auspicious first meeting. A "failed" attempt at rescuing a damsel-in-distress. A series of misunderstandings. Several shocking revelations. An instant attraction. A long day.

Although the sun was nearing its final daily descent, the buildings still gleamed with its light. Thousands of workers shut down their computers and filed out into the streets, some heading further underground to the subways or above to the monorails, some calling cabs or waiting for buses, some dreaming of home while others the bar; many still the next job.

“Yeah, no, don’t worry, I got it.”

She held her smartphone out in front of her, flipping through the feed before she switched over to her Notes, jotting down a few more ideas. The earpiece nearly vibrated with the force of the caller’s voice; if she minded, she didn’t show it.

“I was just upstairs, Perry. I know what’s at stake, so just let me handle it.”

The throng parted as she pushed through it, mumbling a few curt sayings as she forced her way out and through the door. She squinted her eyes, dropping her sunglasses onto her eyes as Perry kept fretting in her ear.

Her fingers brought up a rideshare service.

“I’ve never let you down before, so I’m going to say this once: keep this up Perry, and I’ll accept that job in New York. And with my history there? That isn’t an empty threat… Uh huh… Yep… That’s what I thought. First thing in the morning, Perry, as always. Uh huh… Dotted i’s and everything. Yep… Oh, stop crying, you know I didn’t mean it. See you tomorrow, Chief.”

She rolled her eyes as she ended the call; if she hadn’t, it was already clear that Perry still had a few more choice words that he felt needed saying.

As her eyes went back to her screen, they flitted up for just a moment, having caught another glare ahead.

Was that a...blade?

She narrowed her eyes at the hooded man creeping into the alleyway.

His victim, a big, easy mark if ever she saw one, had stepped into the alley ahead of him, completely oblivious to the danger at hand.

She closed the app.

He was whistling.

It wasn’t as though he was making a conscious choice to do so: there was just always a song somewhere up in there that needed singing, and whistling generally garnered you fewer looks.

Even so, it did a lovely job of masking someone’s footsteps.

Or, rather, it normally would.

The mugger was wearing the wrong shoes for the business, he figured. Or maybe just the wrong clothes in general? The things crinkled something fierce and made one heck of a racket. It was hard for him to imagine the mugger successfully sneaking up on anyone, let alone him.

It didn’t help that he unsheathed the knife first: people were always underestimating how loud a switchblade could be.

Or was that just his sensitivities again? Gracious, what he wouldn’t have given for some context.

“Don’t move,” the mugger ordered.

He stopped in his tracks; best to let him take the lead.

“H-hand it over,” the mugger continued, the movement of his Adam’s apple audible and awkward, “W-wallet, watch, whatever you’ve got. _Now_.”

The voice was a nice touch, though it would still need some work. He wondered if he still had the number for that lovely rec center…

“You deaf? Money or your life, man!”

He stifled a sigh. He could hear the switchblade rattling in his hand the mugger was shaking so badly. Nerves? Withdrawal? He needed to do some more reading tonight.

He adjusted his glasses and pulled up the brim of his cap.

He’d just talk to him man-to-man. Ask him about life, what was troubling him. Really try to relate. Wasn’t hard at all.

He turned just in time to see the woman emerge from the shadows wielding her purse like a meteor hammer.

The man’s head made a cracking sound.

“ _GYAAH!!_ That’ll teach you to pick on people, scumbag!”

His jaw hung open.

“Oh, gosh, are you okay?!”

She blinked.

This was not the kind of question she expected; in fact, had she even expected questions?

“Er, uh, I wasn’t the one in danger, so…?”

However, he was already on his knees giving the mugger the once-over.

“Sir? Sir? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

“... _er...bl...wha…_ ”

“Oh, thank goodness you’re alive. _Oof_. Had me worried. Um, miss, would you mind calling us a cab? This man needs to get to the Emergency Room.”

She blinked again.

“‘Cab?’ Shouldn’t we be calling the police?”

“Oh, no, I don’t think they need to get involved with this, do they? Not like anyone was hurt. Er...well, I mean, I’m not going to press charges over a misunderstanding--mind helping me with him? Thank you, dearly--and I don’t think he’s in any shape to press charges against you.”

Stuck in some kind of stupor, she went along with his plan, even while he continued to speak at a feverish pace and his voice melted into the background noise of the city. The cab arrived in a timely manner, which somehow was the most shocking part of this whole affair, and she sat on the opposite end of the backseat, the would-be mugger sandwiched between them.

He kept asking questions, trying to keep the man awake.

They arrived at the E.R. much in the same daze, though she did recall that he had insisted on paying the fare and apologized to the cabbie that he could not talk more. While she sat in the waiting room, taking note for the first time that a small bit of the man’s blood had stained her suit-jacket, he helped the mugger with the paperwork and sat with him until the nurses called him in.

When that was done, he sat down beside her and stared up at the television monitors.

Was...was he kicking his feet?

Her phone alerted her to a new text, finally snapping her from the dream.

She looked down at the screen and began to reply.

“That was a real kind thing you did.”

The foreign voice broke her concentration. As she gazed up at the man, she realized that she had been certain that he had been nothing more than a figment of her overactive imagination. No one was that sunny, after all.

“...what?”

“Coming to my rescue. That was kind of you. And brave. Thank you.”

“Oh...uh...well...er...don’t mention it…”

“Can I buy you dinner, miss, as a thank you? I’d hate to be ungrateful, and there’s this lovely little diner near here that I think you’d enjoy. Probably.”

Did...did he seriously just…?

She narrowed her eyes at him, suddenly wary. Her lips pursed, her brow furrowed.

His expression remained the same; it reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. That genuine smile, those bright eyes…

Wait, why had she been staring at his eyes for so long?

She cleared her throat as though it would undo the last few seconds.

“...oh, what the hell, I don’t have any plans…”

Her eyes widened as his hands suddenly enveloped hers. They were rough and leathery, quite in contrast to the rest of him. Especially his eyes…

Dammit, there she went again…

“Thank you, kindly! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

Once again, time seemed to congeal, only punctuated by the second alert that she got after she forgot to reply to the first.

Eventually, the patient was discharged with no sign of lasting damage. They stood outside of the clinic while he chatted up the man who had started his night with a knife in his hand. She stared at the two of them. The mugger seemed to be in just as much a daze as she was. Like your brain could not comprehend what was happening but, left with no empirical evidence to contradict the facts, it could not argue and instead simply shut down.

She watched as he handed the man some kind of business card as well as his phone number.

“Do text me when you get home safe, y’hear? Oh, and don’t worry: I’m certain things will work out between you and Benjamin. This is just one of those rocky patches.”

He waved good-bye--seriously, who waves?--and then rejoined her, smiling like a man who did not have to endure the bureaucracy of the American Medical System and an attempted mugging.

She wished she could return that smile.

“It’s just a couple of blocks over. C’mon!”

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting.

The trained parts of her brain told her that there wasn’t any diner and had kept one hand upon the spray in her purse.

The cynical part of her brain told her that anywhere this guy liked she’d immediately hate.

The logical part of her brain assumed, especially given his general look and the use of the word “diner,” that they’d be heading to some typical, All-American Eatery.

_Consuela’s_ was none of these things.

Well, at least not the first or third.

She was still holding out on the second…

What met her expectations was the way he greeted the staff upon entering, and the way they greeted him in turn; a lot more Spanish than what she had envisioned, but the principle and atmosphere was the same, so she chalked that up to a win.

The server gave her a conspiratorial look when she came for their orders.

“Want the usual, Clark?”

“Yes, please,” he beamed.

She eyed him over the menu.

“And you, miss?”

“What’s your strongest stuff?”

Clark drank deep from his glass of ice-cold Kooba Cola. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he had noticed her staring at him ever since Patti brought them their drinks, as though something about this whole situation seemed...unreal?

He wondered if it was something he said...

She was already ordering a second bottle for herself. Even at the county fair, he’d never seen someone chug a drink that fast. It was impressive.

“So,” she said, eyes narrowed and cheeks beginning to hint at a hue they’d be dressing in later on, “‘Usual,’ huh? Almost had you pegged for a tourist, ‘ _Clark_.’”

He frowned.

“Oh, gosh, I forgot to introduce myself, didn’t I?” No wonder she had been staring at him. He had been nothing but rude this entire time. “I’m so sorry. It was the commotion, but that’s no excuse for rudeness, I know. Sorry. But, um, if you’ll permit me, let’s start over?”

He extended his hand, nearly upending the entire table.

“Hi, miss. I’m Clark Kent. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Now, why had her frown _deepened_? Were people in this city not supposed to shake hands? Should he have waited for her to actually _say_ that he could have a do-over before doing it? He could feel a light sweat building on his neck.

He relaxed when she finally took the hand and shook it firmly.

“Nice to meet you, too, Clark. I’m Lois L--”

“Lane, I know!”

He beamed.

His face felt hot immediately afterwards.

“I’m so sorry! I’m just a bit starstruck is all, I guess. Probably shouldn’t have blurted that out. I just recognized you from the by-lines, and you were a hero of mine throughout college. That piece you did on the crisis in Corto Maltese? Amazing. And then you got robbed of your Pulitzer. They must be blind. Sorry, was that all too much?”

Lois looked at him in a way which was more disarming than her scowl had been; was that a smirk? What did smirks mean? Were smirks worse or better than a scowl? Why was the back of his neck suddenly so sweaty?

She took a long drink from her new bottle, setting another dead soldier upon the table.

“Okay, so you know who I am. But I don’t know anything about you. So, what about it, Clark? The accent real? Where’re you from? Any relatives here? College grad, eh? What’d you major in? Where do you work? How many merit badges? Why this diner, in particular?”

Clark was beginning to understand why so many of her interviewees gave up the ghost; and was now wondering how literal the phrase “hard-hitting journalist” was.

“Er, uh, in order? Yes, this is my real accent. See, I’m from Smallville, Kansas. I--”

“Wait, wait, wait. ‘Smallville?’ Isn’t that a little on the nose?”

Clark blushed, smiling regardless.

“Oh, well, uh, maybe. We are a rather small town… Farming community, mostly...”

“Of course… That tracks. Keep going, Smallville. You’re not done yet.”

“Er, right. Well, I don’t have any relatives in the area, though an old friend of mine lives somewhere in the city. I’m hoping to catch up with him when I can.

“I graduated from Smallville State University with Associate’s Degrees in English and Journalism. As for my work, I’m currently employed at the Daily Planet, just like you.”

“Bullshit.”

Patti nearly dropped the next bottle, spilling a little of its contents over the table.

Clark helped clean it up.

Lois continued on the offensive.

“I’ve worked there for years. Been top dog for all of ‘em. I know everyone on the floor, even the new hires, and I’ve never seen you before today. So whatever story you’re trying to sell me about some podunk Journalism major working at _my_ paper, I’m not buying.”

For a moment, Lois caught a gleam of hurt in his eyes; even though it passed in less than a second, something in her heart tore asunder. Why was she feeling this?

He smiled so gently the repaired parts of her heart tore open again.

“I, er, do work at the Planet. Just not as a journalist, miss. I help run the presses.”

_Shit._

Lois wondered if she could get some tajin for her foot.

“But I’m confident I’ll work my way up!”

There was that smile again, the one that made you want to believe whatever it was that he was saying, no matter how much it contradicted all rational thought.

“And it’s good work, mind! I’ve no complaints. Mr. White was really doing me a favor, giving me the job.”

Something tore again.

Maybe the E.R. nurses would recognize her…

To drown out any more unwelcome feelings, she began to chug the remainder of the bottle.

“But where’s my head? You had more questions. Um… let’s see… Oh, yeah. Merit badges. One-hundred-and-two at final count.”

Clark blinked away alcohol from his eyes while Lois coughed terribly.

“Wait, seriously?!”

_I was joking!_

“Well, of course. I’d be a pretty poor excuse for a Scout Master if I didn’t know what I was talking about.” He beamed, as though what he had just said was the kind of thing normal people put pride in. “They weren’t all easy to get, mind you. Not everything can be as fascinating as Orienteering.”

At some point in the following “conversation” Lois’ ears shut down entirely, sparing her from a lengthy explanation of each of the one-hundred-and-two merit badges, how he had achieved them, how they were useful, and how he was disappointed that he could not attain more. All of this was punctuated by him having small asides with the server whenever she came by again, or greeting kids when they walked by.

It hit her somewhere around merit badge thirty-seven.

The decency. The sunny disposition. The complete lack of any kind of pretense. The smile. The eyes. The elevator music which seemed to be playing behind them at all times.

She was currently sitting in a booth across from what could only be described as a Golden Retriever in glasses and flannel.

Or maybe a Samoyed?

One of those big breeds that couldn’t decide if they were a bear or a dog.

Between one blink and the next, he even took on this form in her eyes.

God, this had to be the weirdest first date she had ever been on.

Hold up.

When had she started thinking of this as a _date_? _He_ never said the word, so that had to mean…

Oh, God…

She blinked and looked at Clark again, now human, still busy talking about the badges. Her eyes traced the strong architecture of his jaw, the way it curved naturally into the slope of his neck, his shoulders. They grew them big on the farm, that was for sure, and, quite without conscious thought, she found herself biting her lower lip and nodding along to his words. She could just make out the shape of his collarbone underneath the flannel and undershirt. She supposed working the presses was workout enough, but she could hardly believe that any of it was real.

Oh, God, when had her hand left the table?!

At that moment, to Lois’ mounting horror, her hand was reaching over the table to grope at Clark’s chest. A war erupted within her as she attempted time and again to will her hand back into place, but was always cowed back by what she had to admit was the larger part of herself which was desperate to know the truth…

He was looking away, distracted by someone else walking by.

Now was her moment.

She would no longer be denied.

Just a few more inches…

“Oh! Here you go!”

Lois’ fingers closed around the hot sauce bottle Clark helpfully shoved into them, her face nearly matching the contents. She slowly retracted her hand to a normal position, placing the hot sauce by her plate--when had those gotten there?--and mumbled a soft “Thank you…”

“Look at me! I’ve been so rude, talking your ear off. Forgive me, Miss Lane.”

“Lois.”

Clark blinked.

“Sorry?”

“I’m not about to be called ‘Miss Lane.’ If you know what’s good for you, Smallville, you’ll call me ‘Lois’ and that’s the end of it.”

With much more force and violence than she intended, Lois smothered her food with the hot sauce, spreading the spice from coast to coast. Then, with equal ferocity, she took a large forkful of the stuff and jammed it down her throat.

Her face grew ruddier and her eyes watered, but her face remained resolute, defiant; she would _not_ show weakness in front of this man. She would not let him win.

“Are you…?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Lois said, her mouth still full even as she downed another beer, “Now-- _mmf_ \--you never told me why you picked this place. There’s like a dozen other small cafes around here you could have taken me to.”

“Oh, uh, but I did, Mi--Lois.”

Her facade cracked a little, her eyes guiltily looking up into his.

“Oh...well, I wasn’t listening. Tell me again.”

Another violent bite, followed by the softest of groans.

Clark looked at her, grinning softly as he looked down at his own plate piled high with thick, orange rice and pupusas, the stench of vinegar penetrating the Styrofoam container besides it. He suspected that, given his size, Javi always made sure to put more of everything on his plate, a gesture that did not go unappreciated. Gently, he took a fork and dipped it into the rice; it still steamed as he brought it up off the plate.

“It’s about home, I guess. There’s just something about the food you grew up with that...makes you feel whole, do you know what I mean? Warm and safe and loved and...and I don’t know what else. I guess this is why I’m still down in the presses.”

Lois was not surprised to find that, when Clark laughed, it was with his whole body, and everything in the room seemed to get that much brighter. But her focus was drawn more to his words than anything else: she _didn’t_ know what he meant. About food and home and all of that.

But she wanted to.

What she said, however, was “You know no one’s actually that corny, right?”

He scratched at the back of his head.

“Maybe not… But I guess I wouldn’t be myself, otherwise.”

He shoved a colossal forkful into his mouth, somehow smiling even as he chewed.

“Mmm...see what I mean? Reminds me of my Ma’s cooking…”

“Yeah? Not going to lie to you, Smallville: you look more like a…’steak and potatoes’ kind of guy, if you know what I mean.”

From the look on his face, she figured he didn’t.

It was her turn to smile.

“Never mind. Got a picture?”

She had never seen a grown man move so fast, and all just to show her a picture of his parents. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn that a breeze blew through the place.

“Okay, so, this is my Pa and this is my Ma and that one’s me, though I suppose you could’ve guessed that yourself…”

Lois took the phone gingerly and stared down at the photo.

Some kind of graduation photo, given the way Clark was dressed. To her surprise, his glasses could, in fact, get bigger. Her eyes drifted first to his mother, the more commanding of his parents, taller and built to last. Her glasses were nearly as large as her son’s, but otherwise there was little about her to suggest her age, other than perhaps a few blemishes brought about by sun damage. His father, however, wore his age like a well-worn suit, one which seemed to have only grown more comfortable with time. He was squatter and more rounded than his wife, and it was clearly evident that it was from him that Clark gained his love of caps.

But neither really looked like Clark.

Lois had expected to see something of his eyes in theirs, or perhaps the pronounced jawline, or the dumb way in which his hair curled, but none of these traits were evident in either of his parents.

Adopted, then.

“What’re their names? I mean, unless you mean to tell me that everyone just calls them ‘Ma and Pa Kent.’”

“Well,” Clark admitted with a blush, “I mean, most folks do. But my Pa’s name’s ‘Eben,’ and my Ma’s ‘Marisol.’”

“‘Eben?’” she asked, “Don’t hear that name often…”

“Not nearly enough,” Clark countered with a grin.

Lois rolled her eyes.

“Guess it’s a safe bet that ‘y’all’ are farmers, too?”

Clark nodded.

“Mhmm. Pa grew up on a farm, though we never talk about that side of the family, and my Ma used to ‘farm’ for other people, if you catch my meaning, and the two of them settled down in Smallville and have kept the farm going for... decades now. Not that the bank hasn’t given them more than their fair share of trouble. But Ma always found a way out, even if it wasn’t always the polite way.”

Seeing Clark wink did things to Lois.

It left her unguarded when he asked the next question.

“What about you? What’s your family like?”

The hot-sauce-mush made a wet _PLOP_ as it fell to the table.

“Oh, my family? Yeah, you don’t want to know about that…”

Clark blinked, clearly taken aback.

“Of course I do.”

_What the hell was happening?_

Lois set down her fork entirely and crossed her hands.

“There’s not much to tell, really. Dad’s Marines, Sister’s Marines, I’m not, and my mom’s never really been in the picture.” Lois began fiddling with the items in her purse, shoving the less-important ones aside until she got to the platinum cigarette case. She snapped it open, absentmindedly fingering the contents before she thought better of it. Her eyes snapped up to Clark’s. It wasn’t like he was going to judge her or anything.

But what if he did?

What would that do to her?

She shut the case, shoving her purse aside.

“I kind of made myself. Always have. Not that my family isn’t in the picture: of course they are, I love them. But I...don’t think I have the same relationship with my dad that you have with yours.”

She gave him a wry smile.

He frowned deeply.

“And that’s it? No one else?”

Although he wasn’t sure how, Clark was certain that he had made a mistake the moment the words left his lips and curled upon her own. It was devilish, the way she looked at him. How did she manage to make teeth look threatening?

“Why, Clark, I didn’t think you had it in you. You sly dog, acting all innocent and then asking me if I’m taken already.”

He did not like the way she was toying her fingers over the table toward him.

Clark threw up his hands.

“Oh, golly, no! No, no no! That’s not what I meant! Oh, stars, oh, I am so sorry, Miss L-Lois. Miss Lois. Lois Lane. Lane Lois. Lois. I am so sorry, I did not mean to make any kind of advance on you! I mean, not that I… Well that is to say… I… I…”

It was now his turn to try and drown everything in a bottle, though Lois suspected that soda didn’t quite have the same effects as good ol’ reliable booze.

Her grin only grew wider.

“Nah, it’s chill, Smallville. I’m teasing you. Besides… It’s dumb, but we’re skipping ahead to being a lot more open than I’m used to and, honestly? I don’t mind it.”

Lois took another sip from her drink, this one more conservative.

“I _did_ have that once. ‘Someone else’, you know? Had a wife. It was a good time for a time, but… Well, neither of us were really good at it. And we were young and not prone to good decisions. Ever. U-Haul’d, if you know what I mean. We’re still friends, though, but I guess if I was being honest? I don’t really think we ever were _family_.”

Lois looked down at her hand. She wished that her finger bore a tan where a wedding band used to be, a melancholy, bittersweet pining that manifested in the physical as well as in the heart.

But her hands were flawless, as ever.

Clark put one of his on her own and squeezed, very gently. She was surprised at how softly he could touch.

Their eyes met.

“I’m certain you’re going to meet the love of your life, someday. You’re a good person, and anyone with any sense can see that from a mile away.”

_A...good...person…._

Lois hung tight to the plastic bag, itself wrapped tight around the take-out container. She had had to admit, _Consuela’s_ _had_ impressed her.

If nothing else, the staff knew when to keep their mouths closed and just stare and gossip, like polite society.

Her hands fiddled with the cigarette case again, Clark saying his final good-byes. It was probably just the soft corona of the buzzing neon above, but she could _swear_ that the man had a glow about him.

“Well, I have to say, Lois,” Clark began, donning his cap once more, “I had an absolutely wonderful time. Thank you for letting me treat you to that.”

She stared at him.

_Thump-thump_

He smiled at her, completely genuinely and without pretense.

_Thump-thump_

God, she had forgotten how _bad_ she was at this. So uncool…

_Thump-thump_

“You know…”

_Thump-thump_

“...this doesn’t have to be good-night…”

_Thump-thump_

“...we could…”

_Thump-thump_

“...maybe…”

_Thump-thump_

“...go…”

_Thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump_

“...back to my place?”

_Thump-thump_

_Thump-thump_

Lois played with her hair, her eyes darting from her feet back up into his face. Her cheeks felt flushed; she really had had too much to drink. God, what had she been thinking? And now _this_? Way to ruin the mystique…

_Thump-thump_

She bit her lip.

Clark’s expression became...puzzled. She could not tell exactly what, but a host of others passed over his face, all lasting but a blink, his eyes betraying his inner tumult. He fiddled with his thumb and forefinger.

_Oh, God_ , she thought, knowing what was about to come.

_Thump-thump_

“Oh, God, forget I--”

“Oh? Oh, no, I--”

“No, it’s okay, I--”

“No, no, it’s--”

“It’s--”

“It’s fine.”

Lois did not remember getting closer to Clark, nor he closer to her. He placed his hands upon her shoulders, and something in her...skipped...to see that he was smiling. A bittersweet smile, maybe, but a smile.

“I had a wonderful time,” he reiterated, obviously oblivious to how much worse that made everything, “I really did. And I… I’m certainly…” His cheeks flushed. “I’m flattered, Lois, I-I-I really am. But…”

Here it comes.

Gay?

Married?

Engaged?

Serial prankster?

“...if I were to accept, I would be putting you at a disadvantage.”

_...say what now?_

“You’ve obviously been feeling a bit awkward all night, and I’d hate to put you in a position where you felt obligated, even in retrospect. You deserve to have someone’s undivided attention and to have...any of...that…” Why was he looking away and blushing so much? “...be wholly and passionately desired by all parties. So… I’m sorry to say, Lois, but I must formally decline your offer tonight.”

Both inwardly and outwardly, a smile began to curl and twist upon her face, a dangerous glint in her eye.

_“Tonight_ ,” she thought.

“You know what you’re giving up here, Smallville?” she said.

That got him to blush. Something about the sky must be _really_ interesting to him.

“I...er…”

He cleared his throat.

“Besides,” he said, quickly redirecting the course of the conversation, “I have another job I have to get to.”

Her eyelids dropped.

“You could have led with that,” she grumbled, shaking her head.

“I could...um...still walk you home, though, if you’d like.”

Why did he always look so bouncy when he was offering to help someone?

“You’re corny, Smallville. Nah, I’ll call a cab. Don’t want to put you at a ‘disadvantage.’”

She winked and was happy to see that it flustered him. She wasn’t _that_ bad at this, after all…

He stayed with her during the wait, which should have been awkward and… Well, it _was_ , but not nearly as awkward as it could have been.

He let her run the conversation this time, which naturally turned to work and complaints about city life--not that she’d ever consider anything else. He listened, happily contributing where he could but seemingly-content to just nod along when he couldn’t. If it had been any other man, she would have accused him of tuning her out or just acting nice as part of some long game, but... 

That just didn’t seem to fit Clark.

Nor did it seem to fit everyone else he surrounded himself with.

She hadn’t taken notice of it until now, but he had not simply talked at everyone tonight, but talked _with_. He conversed and asked questions about their lives and made them feel comfortable and listened to.

She couldn’t think of anyone else she had ever met who had the same effect on people.

And, of course, he held the door open for her when the cab finally arrived.

“Oh!” she started as she slid into the cab, “Do you want a lift to work? I can’t believe I hadn’t thought about that until now…”

“Oh, gosh. No, thank you, Lois, it’s not that far. And I really do enjoy walking the city: it’s so nice! Everything’s so lovely here…”

It was plastered on every billboard and tourism advertisement, but that was the first time Lois had ever heard those words and _believed_ it.

“You sure, Smallville? You won’t have a purse-wielding madwoman to protect you this time…”

She beamed at him, and he returned it, chuckling.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her.

As the cab pulled away, he waved at her; and she was surprised to find herself waving back.

And then his face turned into a mask of horror and he began sprinting to catch up, nearly losing his cap in the process. Spying the running man in the rearview, the cabbie brought the car back to a complete stop; being only a few yards away helped matters.

Clark threw open the doors and, for a moment, Lois imagined that he was going to take everything back, jump in the car with her and just throw himself at her, passionately. Her mind might have gotten ahead of the whole ordeal and started working on that fantasy already…

“I forgot!” he bellowed, reaching into his pocket.

Instead of himself, Clark thrust his hand into the cab, holding at the end of it a small business card.

Lois, doing her best to hide her reddened cheeks, took the card and examined it.

“Your...card?” she asked, quite puzzled.

“It’s got my number!” he shouted, completely caught up in the moment, “Text me as soon as you get home safe!”

Lois threw herself onto the bed with a groan, having dropped the takeout container somewhere in the kitchen, most likely upon the floor. The mattress rose up to swallow her, her eyes shut tight to the world.

What the hell even _was_ all of that?

Had that actually _happened_?

And what the hell was her body _doing_ feeling all of...this? Whatever the hell it was that she was feeling?

She stared daggers up into the ceiling.

Damn Clark Kent and his… perfectness…

She blew out her cheeks, furrowing her brow and glaring.

Well, at least it would be easy to avoid seeing him again. Sure, they might work in the same building, but it wasn’t as though she’d ever be called down to the presses. They ran in separate circles, and obviously they had both functioned just fine without running into the other until now, so why rock the boat and change that? And even if they _did_ end up seeing each other again, it would be an easy enough matter to just pass by with a curt greeting, nothing more. Maybe a “how are you?” but not the kind where you really _meant_ it. And it’s not as though Clark was the kind of guy who would kiss and tell, so there wouldn’t be any office gossip that she’d have to worry about. In fact, there was nothing to tell because there was no kissing.

Why was she so angry about that?!

_Bzzt-bzzt_

Lois rolled over, dangling her arms over the bed while she fished around in her purse for her phone.

Text message from Perry.

She frowned, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and centered herself until she was back in Work Mode. Her expression was neutral, yet severe, and her hands moved with a purpose. _This_ is what she lived for…

She didn’t need anything else.

Clark dusted some soot from his shoulders, thankful that the fire hadn’t been worse. The smoke was murder on his contacts.

He wished that he could stick around and talk to people after these jobs, but there was always someone else in need. Besides, he would be running the risk of slipping up, which would have been a waste of all of those Community Theatre classes he took.

Well, not a waste; how could that experience ever have been a waste when he made so many new friends? Learned so many new things? When he finally got to act in his favorite musical?

Still, if nothing else he’d have to remember to always keep the accent. Around here, he had the sneaking suspicion that people might remember something like a Kansas accent, even if they couldn’t place the state, precisely.

_Bzzt-bzzt_

Clark paused, floating in the air above the city. Although it was an utterly pointless act, he, without even really thinking about it, floated up even higher so that he could sit upon a cloud and check his phone safely.

1 NEW MESSAGE

He scrolled past the goodnight message he sent to Ma, and the check-in text from Liam--a sweet guy, really--to where the new message sat, from an entirely new number.

hey nerd

home safe

c u at work smallville

now i know who 2 blame when im misprinted

so dont eff up my words ;)

Clark smiled, somehow feeling lighter than air. His thumbs moved over the keyboard, typing up his response.

Lois Lane lay with her back on the bed, gazing upwards at where she held her phone above her face, illuminated by the screen’s soft glow. It buzzed once as Clark replied immediately-- _thought you were at work, big guy_ \--and she, of course, started texting back.

And as she did so, she was certain of one fact: she did not need any of this.

But she wanted it.


	2. Identity - OR - What's So Funny About Smallville?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A famous comic. A gross misunderstanding. A declaration of love. Unbridled enthusiasm. Someone out of place. A walking ball of sunshine. Two worried parents. A coveted fantasy. A comfort object. Misconceptions. A breath of relief. A business arrangement. A tearful reunion. Art school. A poor choice in names. More misconceptions, misunderstandings, and declarations of love. Fashion advice. A revelation. An auspicious decision.

Dog-eared, yellowed, and falling apart as it was, he gripped the comic just as tightly as he had done the first time he had glanced its cover, his fingers crinkling the villain’s visage even more than the hero’s jaw-breaking punch. His eyes devoured every word, his cheeks now hurting from how much he was smiling, as he sank deeper against the bales which served as his pillows and kicked his feet absentmindedly.  
Forgetting for a moment why he had gone up into the loft in the first place, he soon found himself quoting the lines just as he read them, with all of the passion and fervor they deserved.  
“’Come on out, you skunk!’ ‘Soc!’ ‘Wham!’”  
His effusive laughter alone would have been enough to allow his father to find his hiding place.  
“Clark? You in there?”  
His eyes went wide, his smile quickly fading as he scrambled about in panic and nearly fell from the loft. Quickly righting himself, he stashed the comic away gently, reverently, back into the envelope and placed this in his rucksack, smoothing out whatever creases he could still see.  
“Clark?”  
“U-Uh…Yeah, I’m—ng—I’m here, Pa.”  
“Well, I hoped as much. You comin’ down or am I comin’ up?”  
Clark remained silent, the choice impossible to make.  
“…Up it is.”  
The ladder creaked from the weight of his father’s presence as he ascended into the barn’s loft. Although his expression could easily have been called serious, Clark was quick to notice the kindness still present in his father’s eyes as he found his son hidden in his nest. Even so, Clark drew his blanket tighter around himself; this was all new territory, after all, and he had heard talk from some of the boys about…well, not quite about this sort of thing, but about making things difficult for his parents.  
This was probably Pa just giving him the courtesy of informing him that his parents had finally decided to send him back before actually doing so.  
Maybe the orphanage wouldn’t be quite as terrible as everything always made it out to be…  
“Howdy,” Pa said, squeezing himself into the makeshift fort while doing his best not to disturb any of the bales. He knew how much his son appreciated his solitude and wasn’t about to encroach upon that, any more than he already was, anyway. “Which one was it this time?”  
Clark avoided his father’s gaze.  
“Number one…”  
Pa whistled through his teeth.  
“That bad, huh? Well, I suppose seeing Hitler punched in the face is as good a cure for the blues as you can get.” He smiled warmly, saddened only to see his son somehow unable to feel the warmth. Tentatively, he scooted forward; when Clark retreated a little more, he, very calmly, scooted back.  
A tense silence passed between them.  
“I…suppose you know why I came lookin’ for you.”  
“Mr. Archer said something, didn’t he?”  
Pa chuckled lightly.  
“Well, I suppose you could say that. Ulysses didn’t get too good a look at whatever it was, but he’s swearing up and down that that blur saved his truck, and the people in that little green car he almost ran off the road.”  
To Pa’s surprise, Clark’s eyes welled up with tears.  
“Hey-hey-hey, son, it’s alright. It’s alright! C’mere.”  
Clark fell into his father’s arms, wrapping his own tight around Pa’s middle as the man held the back of his head and rested his cheek against it.  
“It’s alright… It’s alright… What’s botherin’ you? What’s got you so scared, Clark?”  
“I don’t want to go…”  
“’Go?’ Where you goin’, Clark? Can I come?”  
“No! No, I’m going back to the orphanage and I’m never gonna see you or ma ever again…”  
There was a brief chuckle that rumbled through Pa’s chest, although he immediately regretted it. He rubbed his son’s hair some more and sighed deeply, closing his eyes as he gathered his wits.  
“Clark… That’s not gonna happen. Trust me.”  
“Yes, it will! Kenny told me…”  
“What, that lil’ shitbir—?!” Pa cleared his throat loudly, cheeks flushed. “Clark, don’t believe a word Kenny says. He’s just tryin’ to rile you up ‘cause… well, I don’t know why. But it’s nothin’ you need to worry about.”  
“I don’t think his home life’s good…”  
“Yeah, well, that ain’t an excuse to take it out on my son.”  
“Nah, but…”  
Pa could practically hear his son’s thoughts. The boy couldn’t seem to help but wear his heart on his sleeve. He could feel the wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, growing deeper every day. Clark had that effect on you.  
“Okay. Tell you what: you invite him over sometime, okay? I’ll tell your Ma not to lay into him, and I’ll go have a talkin’ to with Kenny’s folks. That work for you, son?”  
Clark nodded, his face buried in his father’s chest.  
“So…” he whispered eventually, “You’re not going to send me back?”  
“Clark, we would never do a silly thing like that. We love you. You could find a way to blight the crops and destroy half the town and we’d still love you—give you a right talkin’ to, but love you.”  
Clark laughed and Eben Jonathan Kent finally let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in. Clark adjusted so that he now sat sideways with his father, the two still holding one another.  
“I mean it. We’re not goin’ to send you away, especially not for what you did.”  
“So…So, I didn’t make things too difficult for you and Ma?”  
“We—ell…” With his thumb, Pa lifted up the brim of his cap. He never wanted to lie to the boy—he already was dying inside from everything they had been keeping from him, already—but he also didn’t want him to… hold the weight of the world on his shoulders. It wasn’t Clark’s burden to bear and then there was his emotional well-being to consider.  
Still…  
Pa sighed.  
“I’m not goin’ to lie to you, Clark: this does change things and ye—ah, there’s some tough decisions your Ma and me have to make. But—!” he quickly added, throwing up his palm to stop Clark’s already-coming apology, “Nothin’ that you did was shameful, okay? And I don’t want you to regret it. You did good, Clark, and that’s made me prouder than anythin’ else, okay? We just… have to be careful, is all. Your Ma and me? Well, we’re just worried that if somethin’ like this does get out, somebody’ll come and take you from us. You remember what happened to your cousin Carina, don’t you Clark?”  
“It’s not fair…”  
“No, it’s not. It broke your tía and tío’s heart. We’ll get her back, but—” Eben sighed, his body suddenly twice as heavy. “Family’s shouldn’t be broken up like that, and they do it for differences a lot less different than what you can do, Clark. I don’t know if your Ma’s going to be sleepin’ without her shotgun for a while.”  
“So…” Clark said slowly, working through the problem in his head, “So I should just stop. Not do anythin’ like that, again.”  
“Then you’d stop bein’ you, Clark, and that’s not a world anyone should live him.” He turned his son’s head so that they could look each other in the eye. His own eyes had grown misty, then, and he smiled as wide as Clark had ever seen him smile. “Don’t ever stop bein’ who you are, Clark, and don’t ever, ever, let the evils of this world make you stop doin’ the good that you can do. They want you to feel alone and afraid and powerless but, son? Even without all of the amazing things you can do, your soul is as strong and pure as steel and you’re tougher than any of ‘em, y’hear?”  
“I hear you, Pa.”  
“Good. ‘Cause not even your Ma, worried out of her mind as she is, thinks you should stop. Heck, I reckon she’d probably have a few choice words to say to you if you ever did stop.”  
“What, like ‘crud-bird‘?”  
“Son, please don’t go around repeatin’ your Pa: he’s an old coot who’s lost his mind and, besides, those kinds of words just don’t sound right comin’ from you.”  
He ruffled his son’s hair, eliciting a laugh from both of them.  
“So what are we going to do, then?”  
“We—ell, the first thing we’re gonna do is get down from this here loft, go inside, and have ourselves some cookies, provided we can find where your Ma hid them. Then, we’re going to get together as a family and discuss what we can do to keep us all safe, okay?”  
“Can I wear a mask?”  
Pa blinked.  
“…what?”  
“A mask! Like Cap o-o-or Bucky! If I wore a mask, then nobody’d recognize me!”  
Somehow, Pa doubted that a simple domino mask could contain the entirety of his son’s sunny disposition, especially in as small a community as this. Still, he smiled at the thought and figured it would be best to let his son down easy on this one.  
“…We’ll discuss it later with your mother, okay? She might have a few ideas…”  
Although it was very clear that he didn’t really have to, Pa helped Clark down from the loft and, as they stood in the dirt, he doffed his cap and fit it as low as he could manage on his son’s head. Clark laughed, which was reason enough for Pa, and the two of them started walking back up to the house.  
“Can we watch a musical, Pa?”  
“Sure, Clark. Your pick.”

The building was already more opulent and breathtaking than he could have previously imagined, and he hadn’t even stepped foot beyond the confines of the lobby. Clark stared up at the ceiling, mouth slightly agape, entranced by the myriad reflective surfaces arranged in geometric patterns and the cool, clean monitors and displays which broadcast a steady stream of the company’s accolades and accomplishments. As he watched, the reflective surfaces began to glow ever-so-softly until, appearing just below them all, a three-dimensional hologram materialized. The hologram smiled warmly down at him, the image a bust shot of the company’s current CEO.  
When it spoke, his friend sounded just like he remembered.  
“We are Lex Co: The Architects of your Tomorrow.”  
“Wow…” Clark breathed, grinning from ear-to-ear.  
Someone cleared their throat noisily nearby.  
His cheeks flushed as Clark’s attention was drawn to the source of the noise, a slightly-amused secretary staring at him with half-lidded eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck as he lumbered over.  
“Can I help you, sir?”  
“Y-Yes, sir. Sorry about that. I’d like to speak to him, please.”  
“Speak to who, sir?”  
“Oh. Uh. Is he not in? I would have thought he’d be in by now…”  
“To whom are you referring, sir? Lex Co employs quite a few people. If you have a name, I can ring up their cubicle or leave a message at your convenience.”  
“Oh, well, I don’t want to talk on the phone. I could have just done that without comin’ all the way down here, don’tcha think?” Clark snorted as he laughed; but the secretary was rather visibly not amused. He cleared his throat. “S-Sorry. I’m admittedly a bit nervous. It’s… been a while, and I don’t really… Um, anyway. I’d like to see Mr. Luthor, please. In p-person.”  
Clark used his finger to shove his glasses back up onto his bridge as the secretary stared incredulously at the man, evidently trying to ascertain whether he was some kind of con artist, a simpleton, an internet prankster, or some combination of these. Clark gave him as earnest a look as he gave everyone so that, eventually, the secretary could only sigh and turn to his computer.  
“I’m guessing you don’t have an appointment…”  
“Oh. Uh. No. Should I have? I thought it might spoil the surprise and I wasn’t sure if I needed an appointment just to pop in and say ‘Hi’ to an old friend…”  
Prankster, perhaps.  
“You are an old friend of Mr. Luthor’s?”  
“Yessir. From Kansas.”  
The secretary’s fingers paused over his keyboard. Was this the kind of thing people get fired over? Letting country bumpkins in when they were clearly operating under some kind of delusion? He rubbed his eyes before adding an additional note to the file:  
POSSIBLE SECURITY RISK.  
After another minute’s typing, the secretary adjusted the webcam so that it faced forward, instructed the strange hick to look directly at it—why was he not surprised that the man said “Cheese?”—and then sat back in his chair as the printer spat out a small ID card which was then properly laminated, affixed to a lanyard, and handed over.  
“This is a temporary pass. You will still need to check in with the Security Office over there. If they clear you—”  
“’If?’”  
“—you’ll then make your way to the fifty-second floor and sign in at the desk, there. His personal secretary will then add your name to the waitlist and, with any luck, you’ll be able to see him within the next eight hours.”  
“’Eight hours?!’”  
“Of course, you could always expedite this process by calling our appointment line and setting up an appointment in advance, sir.”  
Clark grimaced.  
Somehow, he had just seen things going differently. He adjusted his bag and jacket before sighing away the blues and returning the smile to his face.  
“No, it’s alright. Eight hours will be just fine. Thank you for all of your help, David.”  
“You’re very welcome, sir.”  
“By the way, are those your kids? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but I couldn’t help but notice your background…”  
“Oh. W-Well, yes. They are. James and John.”  
“Wow. Family of boys. No wonder you look so tired. Hey, want to know a trick? Add just a little pinch of cinnamon to your coffee grounds: it really gives it a kick, you know? Anyway, sorry for talkin’ your ear off! You’ve been a big help, David!”  
As the man walked away, waving as though that was still a perfectly normal thing to do, David couldn’t help but find himself waving back, his eyes wide and disbelieving as the man walked off in the direction of the Security Office.  
He even said “Howdy.”

The silence sat between them, heavy and terse and uncomfortable. Eben kept one hand on the wheel while his other held fast to his wife’s; she had nearly squeezed the life out of it.  
“I don’t like this,” she said at last, scowling out the windshield.  
“I know…”  
“I really don’t like this.”  
“I know.”  
“Then what the hell are we doin’ here, Babe? We’re not seriously going to let them make decisions about our son, are we?”  
“Of course not. They don’t have the right.  
“But, honey, they’re scared. They have to be. He’s not like everyone else and, honestly, with the kind of things he can do? I don’t blame ‘em for bein’ scared. I’d be too, if I didn’t know better.”  
“I’m not handing my son over to anyone.”  
“You’re damn right you’re not.”  
Eben smiled as he gestured toward the back of the pickup.  
“Though I kinda figured that as soon as I saw the twelve-gauge you hid back there…”  
Marisol’s cheeks blushed scarlet.  
“You…saw that?”  
“’Course. Though I didn’t really have to, hon, you know that. Someone so much as looks at Clark sideways and you’re already sizin’ ‘em up for a coffin.”  
“If they’re even that lucky…”  
Eben chuckled. The air became a lot less heavy when she joined in. The tension and the anger slowly abated, replaced by a deep worry and a sadness that weighed them both down.  
“I can’t trust ‘em,” Marisol said eventually, as Eben turned down Main Street and up toward the town hall, “I just can’t.”  
“I know. And, trust me, I’ll never ask you to. You’ve been keepin’ this family safe just fine. Ain’t my place to question your methods, now.”  
She placed a soft hand on his cheek; she giggled as he turned his head to kiss her fingers over and over again, each one with more passion and a bigger smile.  
“Keep your eyes on the road, güey!”  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
Marisol smiled broadly, teeth bared as she looked at her husband and wondered, since they were out of the house already, if they couldn’t just find themselves a nice little side street or secluded field somewhere. Probably wouldn’t be too difficult in a town like this…  
She closed her eyes and sighed away the encroaching fantasy.  
It wasn’t the time for that.  
She needed her thoughts focused if she was going to do whatever it took to protect her son. At first, she had considered burning the letter when it arrived and keeping Eben out of the whole affair; the man was too soft-hearted for something like this and, besides, it was probably just the locals blowing steam. If they really wanted to come and do something about Clark, they knew where to find them; and they knew damn well what awaited them if they did.  
Then she had considered taking matters entirely into her own hands.  
But Clark still needed her here; and she still wanted to be here.  
She grumbled lightly under her breath as the pickup pulled into the parking lot, scarcely wedging itself between two other trucks. Gazing around the lot, every car in town seemed to reflect the pickup’s headlights.  
So. That was how things were going to be.  
Marisol reached for the shotgun.  
“A—s much as I know that’d ease your nerves, mi alma,” Eben said, placing a firm but gentled hand upon her wrist, “Let’s not spook ‘em any more than they already are, okay? Besides, we both know you can take ‘em with or without that.”  
She begrudgingly relented, giving him a small smile before he kissed her softly upon the lips and they both exited the pickup. She adjusted her jean jacket as she stepped out, tugging it taut as she gazed up at the hall as though she were about to fight it, personally.  
Eben fit his cap snug onto his head.  
“Alright. Let’s do this thing…”  
Their hands naturally found each other as they walked across the dirt lot and up the front steps, opening the doors to the town hall and cutting off the current speaker mid-sentence.  
Hundreds of eyes turned to look at them as they entered; if any of them had any true sense, they would have dropped dead from the look Marisol was giving them.  
“Evenin’,” the speaker said.  
“Evenin’.” Only Eben replied. It took him a moment to place the speaker before he realized that the middle-aged man standing before him was just Chief Parker; the uniform had so much become the man that seeing him now without it was like seeing the man without any skin on.  
“We—ell, I don’t think we need to beat around the bush here, now do we?”  
“S’pose not.”  
His hand was beginning to ache.  
“Then I guess you folks already know why we called you down here tonight, then.”  
“Yep. Somethin’ to do with our son.”  
“Right, well… Well, why don’t you two have a seat?”  
“We’re just fine, thank you.”  
Marisol’s voice made the temperature in the hall drop a few degrees.  
Chief Parker had to clear his throat before beginning again.  
“R-Right. Well. The thing is, there’s been mysterious occurrences around town as of late.”  
“Goin’ on now for the past year,” another townsperson chimed in.  
“Right. Cars bein’ lifted off of people. Telephone poles bein’ righted. Stampedes mysteriously stopped. Disasters of all sorts accompanied by a strange blur and sightings of a teenage boy in a mask.”  
Eben closed his eyes. Clark just couldn’t help himself, could he?  
“And, well… as I said, we ain’t beatin’ around the bush, here. We know it’s your boy, Clark. We don’t know how he’s been doin’ it, but we know. And there’s no use denyin’ it.”  
Both Eben and Marisol visibly tensed. He knew her eyes would already be scanning the room for any sign of trouble, present or potential, while his own looked to the faces of his friends and neighbors, hoping to find some glimpse of hope.  
They stared, blank-faced, back at him.  
“Alright,” Eben said with a sigh, “Alright. So, it’s our Clark doin’ these things. Sounds to me like he’s been helpin’ y’all.”  
“Damn straight,” Marisol added.  
“So, if you’re here to accuse our son of bein’ a menace or if this is your little way of tryin’ to threaten us or somethin’, I’d ask you to ask yourselves if that’s really what you want to do.”  
Confusion ran through the crowd which only confused Eben more and, unfortunately, smothered the small flame of anger he had been building, causing the strength in his voice to falter.  
“You…You did call us down here to threaten us, didn’t you?”  
“Of course not!” Mrs. Cramer spoke up, clutching the back of her chair. “Why would we do such a thing?”  
“No, we all love your boy, Eben! You know that!” Ulysses said from the front.  
Eben and Marisol exchanged a look; even she seemed to have deflated just a little, though her fist remained tensed.  
“Then…why did you call us down here?” she asked, disbelief evident in her voice.  
“Why… we want to know how best to help you!” Chief Parker said, flabbergasted.  
No matter how many times they played the sentence over again in their heads, it just did not seem to make any sense to the two worried parents.  
“I’m sorry?”  
“Yeah, we wanted to get together as a community and figure out how best to help y’all, h-help Clark! ‘Cause he’s been doin’ such good work around here and w-we’re worried about what anyone from, you know, ‘out of town’ might do to ‘im if they found out what he could do.”  
“So… So, none of you have any plans to hurt my boy?”  
“’Course not, Eben. Hell, it was hard enough to keep a straight face when he brought my dog back and tried to act like he didn’t know me. Wanted to hug your boy right then and there but I couldn’t just break his heart, now could I?”  
“Yeah, we all feel the same way,” another agreed, “It’s why we didn’t have you bring him with you. We don’t want to crush his lil’ dream, here, and we’re all just fine with playin’ along. We just don’t know how to keep everyone outside from takin’ him away.”  
They were not certain how they had gotten there, but Eben and Marisol now sunk low into a pew, their bodies shaking from exhaustion. The cap nearly fell from his head and she clutched her own in the palm of her free hand, trying to will herself to wake up from this dream. Someone in the crowd produced a glass of iced tea for them both, which they each drained in seconds before a spare was produced for each.  
“I…I don’t believe it…” Marisol breathed, eyes wide, “I thought…”  
“We know,” Parker said soberly, “And we know why you thought it. But we’re a community here, Mari. We’d hoped you knew that by now, but you’ve shown us we gotta work on makin’ you feel more welcome. We’re sorry.”  
She nodded blankly to the words. She was suddenly feeling quite weightless and certain that at any moment she was about to lift off from the pew and just disappear into the stars. Luckily, there was Eben’s arm around her shoulders to weigh her down. She rested her head against his shoulder and nearly drifted off into sleep.  
“So, you all… You all really just want to help our son?” Eben said, eyes misty.  
“Of course, Eben,” Pete Ross Sr. said, walking over to them and placing a steadying hand on his neighbor’s shoulder, “We cannot express enough how grateful we are for what your boy’s done for this town. Hell, I can’t thank you enough for what a friend he’s been to my son. We’re all the better for knowing him.”  
A general susurration of affirmation ran through the crowd, so much so that it seemed everyone in town had something kind to say about Clark or some anecdote about how his heroics had helped them in some way, even if only by making them smile.  
“He helped me get home durin’ that storm last month.”  
“You shoulda seen him carryin’ that cow back to us. You’d think the boy had caught a rocket with how triumphant he looked!”  
“Zoomed right on past us and just waved! I tell you two, your boy may not have much horse-sense, but he could make the devil crack a smile.”  
Tears began to flow over the contours of Eben’s cheeks as he listened to testimonial after testimonial, until it was now his wife that held him as he shook with grateful sobs. He had been holding so much back, been trying to be a bedrock of stability for so long, that now everything just started pouring out of him. He bit down on his lip even as he smiled and grimaced in equal measure, hand held firmly against his head so that he could remain steady and upright. Marisol whispered soft words into his ear, rubbing her hand along his back as she cried, a lot quieter, right beside him.  
Their son was going to be safe.  
The townsfolk of Smallville let Eben have his moment, keeping respectfully quiet and producing items of comfort for him when the moment seemed right. He blew his nose on a half-dozen proffered handkerchiefs—making sure to thank each and every one of their owners—and finally took a deep swig from a bottle of bourbon that had been passed to them both. Only when it seemed that, at last, emotions had calmed down enough for the conversation to continue did Chief Parker speak up again.  
“This town is behind y’all one-hundred-percent, and we always will be. So, come on now: let’s figure out the best way to help your boy, hmm?”  
Eben stared down at the bottle in his hands, swirling its contents about. A thought had occurred to him, now that his head was clear enough for thought again, and his mouth now stretched into a thin, grim line.  
“Any of y’all still in contact with the Luthors?”  
As the question worked its way around the room, the unanimous response was in the negative; even Chief Parker shook his head with a shrug. Eben nodded, eyes closed.  
“Well, thank goodness for small miracles. I know they were just as much a part of this community as anyone else, but that’s step one, everybody: no one breathes a word to any of them about what Clark can do. The Luthors don’t need to know…”

He could be forgiven if the conversation wasn’t quite stimulating enough to keep him from scrolling through social media on his phone. There seemed to be an appropriate amount of buzz concerning the launch of his newest model, helped, of course, by the random distribution of a few hundred to the masses.  
“Are you listening?” the computerized voice demanded.  
It was a flaw in the design, though not one that bothered him too much. They’d be able to fix it with each new generation, bring the voice more and more to a natural tone—after all, the Test wasn’t going to beat itself—so all he would need was a little more patience. Besides, as much as the software might have struggled to mimic the sound of a normal human, it understood and displayed tonal variation remarkably well; it was rather quaint to hear a computer yell at you in a voice that actually sounded angry.  
“Of course I am,” he replied. It wasn’t a complete lie.  
He was proud of the fact, as well, that the software took only three-fifths of a second before it began translating the speaker’s words from Malay to English; even that time would be shaved down in the next few updates.  
“Then why have you not answered me?”  
“Because there’s nothing to answer. Trust me, you still have exclusive access to all information regarding any verified xenobiological incident, but as there’s nothing to confirm at this time, there’s nothing to say at this time.”  
“You have photographic evidence that this man can fly, Alexander. You cannot tell me you think that normal.”  
“Of course not, but there could be a dozen other explanations. The man could be a Mutant or using some advanced tech. Hell, it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility that this whole thing is an elaborate hoax. Trust me, please. When I know something more, you will be the first to know.”  
“You know how unwise it is to deceive me, Alexander.”  
“You have some serious trust issues, do you know that? Tell you what, until I have definitive proof of whether or not this flying man is some kind of alien, I will make it my top priority to find out. Does that satisfy you?”  
While the other man paused to consider his words, Lex, eyes rolling, eased himself out of his chair and limped over to the window. His cane was state-of-the-art and had practically neutralized any defect in his gait; still, he couldn’t help but feel completely aware of every lost millimeter, even if he couldn’t truly feel them. Still, a small price to pay for life, all things considered.  
He poured himself a drink and took a long sip of it, eyes half-lidded in exasperation as he finally received his reply.  
“I will want hourly updates.”  
“You know it’s just going to be a lot of me saying ‘Still nothing,’ right?”  
“Even so, I want hourly updates.”  
“Very well. And I want the next shipment at an eighty-percent reduction in cost.”  
“You can’t be—”  
“’Serious?’ Yes, I am. You’re having me do something needlessly laborious for you, you can do the same for me. Besides, you still own the shipping company, so the shipping costs should eat into that discount a tidy amount, right? Right.”  
A frustrated sigh came from the other end of the line.  
“…Very well.”  
“Good. Glad that’s settled. Now, I’ll leave you with the first of my hourly reports: Still nothing. Selamat Tinggal!”  
Lex rested his forehead against the glass as he puffed out his cheeks and exhaled long and hard. God, this world would be a lot less exhausting if people could just start trusting him to handle things. He’d handled things fairly well so far, after all, if his current position was any indication.  
“Do you ever think they get tired of doubting me, Mercy?”  
His shadow stood at-attention, face severe.  
“I know I would, sir.”  
He scoffed, chuckling lightly to himself before he drained the rest of his glass. A small alert chimed on his headset.  
“Yes, Miss Tessmacher? What is it?”  
“Sorry to disturb you, sir. There’s a man here to see you.”  
Lex cocked an eyebrow down at his watch.  
“Right. Well, tell Dr. Hamilton that my current meeting is running long and that the earliest I’ll be able to see him is in three hours. When he comes back, tell him that something’s come up but that I can squeeze him in for a minute.”  
“Sorry, sir, but it’s not Dr. Hamilton. He refuses to give his name and he doesn’t have an appointment, but he’s very insistent on seeing you, today.”  
Lex shot a glance over at Mercy, cocking his head in the direction of the monitors. Obeying the silent order, Mercy brought up the camera feeds while her boss kept his focus on the conversation and the goings-on outside the window.  
“I see. So he just showed up and started raving, did he?”  
“Uh, no, sir. He’s actually quite calm and has been sitting here for the past few hours. I’ve tried to turn him away several times but he’s very insistent on waiting.”  
Lex narrowed his eyes.  
Rather odd behavior for an obsessive. He poured himself a fresh drink.  
“Security already vetted him?”  
“Yes, sir. Ran his information three times. Nothing out of the ordinary.”  
Lex muted the conversation and turned toward Mercy.  
“What are we looking at?”  
“He’s big enough to be one of Mannheim’s, but he doesn’t look like it. Too…cuddly.”  
“’Cuddly?’”  
“I really don’t know how else to put it, sir. Sort of looks like you stuffed one of those big dogs in a suit.”  
“’Big do—‘?”  
Lex paused, his face losing all trace of annoyance and worry, instead replaced by genuine curiosity and, if he were to be completely honest with himself, hope.  
No.  
It couldn’t be.  
“Mercy,” he said, his voice a half-pitch higher than it had been before, “Tell me: he wouldn’t happen to look like he’s from, I don’t know, some backwoods hick town or something, would he?”  
“Yeah. How’d you—?”  
Before anyone else had time to react, Lex had run over to the double doors and unlocked them, throwing them open with enough force to startle both Miss Tessmacher and Mercy—if that was even possible. His face looked a bit paler in the waiting room lights, his eyes wide with disbelief.  
In all honesty, he had never expected to see him again.  
“Clark…?” he asked, voice wavering a little.  
Clark beamed and the room seemed somehow brighter.  
“Hi, Lex!”  
The two men laughed as Lex ran up and embraced his old friend, laughing anew as he found himself now a couple inches off of the ground. For her own part, Mercy remained where she always was, standing just beyond sight in Mr. Luthor’s shadow as she sized up this new arrival.  
“I can’t believe it!” Lex said at last when his feet were back on solid ground, “Look at you! What are you doing here? Come in, come in! Clark, you should have called!”  
“Oh, well, I know…” Clark said, cheeks flushed, “I just wanted to surprise you is all… Hope that’s okay…”  
“Well, color me surprised. Miss Tessmacher, cancel everything else I have, today, and order us in something, will you? I don’t really care what…”  
“Uh, but, sir—”  
“Trust me, Miss Tessmacher. This is more important than anything else I had planned today…”

Eben had never seen the boy as obsessed as he was now, poring over the notebook as he had been for the past couple days. It hadn’t stopped him from doing his chores, just from…engaging with them. Eben couldn’t help but smile in amusement as he watched Clark go about the day, notebook and colored pencil in hand while he tried to maneuver his other limbs in such a way as to perform the other tasks, usually with comedically disastrous results that he, somehow, seemed to still remain oblivious of.  
“Clark? You think you’re about ready?”  
“Just a second, Pa…”  
“Son, you’ve been sayin’ that for the past four hours. Now, I know this means a lot to you, but I think you might be overthinkin’ this just a touch.”  
Clark grimaced.  
“I just…want it to be perfect.”  
“Well, it can’t be perfect if it’s never started.”  
Clark nodded before, with a heavy sigh, he handed the notebook over to his parents. Eben withdrew his glasses and placed them on his nose, staring down at the designs.  
“Well...These are certainly…colorful…” he said at last.  
“Red and Blue,” Marisol said with a smirk and a knowing look toward her son, “These wouldn’t happen to be inspired by anyone else, would they, nene?”  
Clark’s cheeks flushed.  
“I…just…”  
“I’m teasing you, Clark. Stop crying,” she said, shaking her head with a smile, “I think they look nice. Very you.”  
Clark brightened up at this, though Eben could hear the slight tease that his son seemed blissfully ignorant of. He squeezed his wife closer to him and gave her a conspiratorial look; she, of course, had a look of utter and perfect innocence upon her face.  
“What’s this…sigil you’ve got here, Clark?” Eben said, finger pressed against paper, “Some kind of diamond or…?”  
“It’s a shield, Pa.”  
Eben and Marisol looked levelly at their son who, somehow, seemed to shrink just a little underneath their gaze.  
“A shield.”  
“Y-Yes, Pa. I…” He rubbed the back of his neck as he started regretting getting them involved in this whole affair, “Well, I couldn’t just go around carryin’ one. But I still wanted one so I thought I could incorporate it into the design of my symbol!”  
“It doesn’t look too much like a shield…” Marisol observed.  
“I know. If you turn the pages, you’ll see that I originally had one that looked a bit closer, but I just started likin’ this shape more and more.”  
“Well, so long as you like it, Clark, it’s perfect,” Eben added, trying to dissuade his son’s obvious worries, “But I do want to ask: what’s the ‘S’ stand for?”  
“Oh! Well I figured it could be for my superhero name!”  
“Oh, you came up with a name already? I thought you were struggling with that…”  
“Well, I was, Ma, but then it came to me! Cap’s named what he is ‘cause he’s American and ‘cause he represents all of us, right? So I thought, well, I need a name then that reflects where I’m from and who I represent. So…”  
Clark struck a triumphant pose, his fists on his hips as he gazed off in the vague direction of the future.  
“Captain Small!”  
It was a full minute before Eben and Marisol could be cajoled out of their fits of laughter and, only then, to be sent back into small giggles and chuckles and chortles at the sight of their son, beet-red and scowling, having lost all air of dignity and maturity that he had managed to conjure up with his pose and enthusiasm.  
“I-I-I-I” Eben tried to choke out, gritting his teeth as he bent over double.  
“We’re sorry, mijo… It’s just… It’s just… No one would want to be called ‘Captain Small!’”  
“Why?”  
“Oh, bless your heart, son…”  
“Well, what about ‘Small Man?’”  
“Clark, somehow, that’s worse.”  
“What’s wrong with ‘Small Man?!’”  
“Clark, honey,” Marisol said, placing a comforting hand on her son even as she struggled to keep her composure, “Why this obsession with naming yourself after Smallville?”  
“’Cause it’s home, Ma. And I guess… I guess ‘cause this place, these people… They always give me hope for tomorrow. For people. For life. You two taught me that. So, when I look at that thing I drew, to everyone else it’d just be my codename or an ‘s’ or whatever… But for me it’d mean ‘hope.’”  
Thoroughly shamed for their previous behavior, Eben and Marisol both stood up and hugged their son tight and close, easing away whatever hard feelings had been brewing. Slowly, Clark’s muscles unclenched and, when the hug was done, there were small kisses passed around and a hand to muss up his hair.  
“Alright, alright,” Eben said at last, easing himself back down into his chair, “We’ll keep the ‘S,’ Clark, but you’re going to have to come up with somethin’ better than ‘Small Man.’”  
“Like what, Pa?”  
“Well… you want to be a superhero, right? Well, why not just ‘Superman?’”  
The name sat in the air between the three of them, each one digesting it in turn.  
“I don’t know, Pa… Isn’t it a little… corny?”  
Eben didn’t know how to feel about this particular insult, especially coming from his son who, not ten minutes before, had come up with the worst hero names in all of human history. He sat with his mouth agape while Marisol placed a hand on his shoulder.  
“Then I think it’s perfect, Clark. Now, come on, you two, let’s get to work. This costume won’t make itself…”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were moving here?”  
“Well, I didn’t know how to reach you, for one. Thank you.” Clark accepted the glass of water and immediately began taking small sips from it. “And I didn’t want you to—”  
“Well, where are you working right now? I’m certain I’ve got something around here for you to do. And please don’t tell me you’re living in one of those low-income tenements. Look, I’ll make a few calls. I know a fantastic moving company, and I’ve got a realtor who owes me a favor and—”  
“Lex!” Clark said in desperation, placing a firm hand on his knee. Lex looked down at the hand before up into Clark’s face. He sported a strained smile and, in the moment of silence between them, took the time to readjust his glasses. “Lex, this is why I didn’t tell you, buddy. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to fix my life. I…wanted to make it on my own.”  
“Clark, that’s very…noble and all, but no one makes it all on their own. Everyone needs help, there’s no shame in it.”  
“I know, I know. I’m not ashamed, just… I don’t need any of that, either. There are plenty of people who need it more, Lex! Besides, I like where I’m livin’ right now.”  
“Then it’s worse than I thought. Look, it won’t be a problem, I’ll just make some calls…”  
“Lex, please. Please. Trust me.”  
Lex looked into Clark’s eyes for several moments before he relented with a heavy sigh.  
“Very well,” he said, throwing his hand aside, “But you’ve at least got to let me show you around sometime, hmm? Maybe pay for…well, something you need paid for when you need it paid. Please. As your friend, I’d like to, and I can’t imagine what a city like this one could do to a guy like you…”  
“What do you mean, Lex? I like it here! Everyone’s been real nice to me.”  
Lex opened his mouth to snark, but then caught himself. This was Clark they were talking about, after all. It really shouldn’t have surprised him that the man could find a way to make friends with everyone he met, even in a place like this. Instead, he shook his head and smirked.  
“Forget it. I’m glad to hear you’re doing alright. Just, do not hesitate to ask. For anything. At all.”  
“We—ell, I did kinda come here for somethin’…”  
“I knew it. Don’t worry, I’ll make a call to the bank at once. They’ve got no right to foreclose on that farm. They’ve turned a steady profit for years now, and—”  
“What? No! No, it’s nothin’ like that. I’m glad to hear that you still care about Ma and Pa, but the farm’s doin’ just fine, thank you. No, it’s…well, it’s of a more… personal, nature.”  
Lex cocked an eyebrow.  
“What is it?”  
Clark rubbed the back of his neck, smiling awkwardly as he stared at the ground.  
“I…uh…Gee, I didn’t think this one through… Um… Well… There’s somethin’ I gotta say to you, Lex. Somethin’ I’ve got to confess. It’s somethin’ that I haven’t told anyone. Well, anyone besides my parents. But it’s one of those things you just can’t hide from your parents, y’know? They just sort of already know?”  
Lex pressed himself harder against the back of his chair. This was…unexpected. Very unexpected. He supposed, now that he thought about it, that he really shouldn’t have been surprised; but to have this sort of confession made to him? And did this mean that… that…  
His eyes went a bit wider.  
Was this more than just a declaration of orientation, but a declaration of… of…  
Lex could feel his neck grow hotter and was very thankful that he had dismissed Mercy as soon as he had welcomed Clark into his office. He really would not have wanted things to be any more awkward for his friend than they must already be. And…  
And, well, this day had been full of surprises, hadn’t it? Who knew where else it would lead? Was… was that somewhere he wanted things to go? As Clark continued to babble—as Clark always babbled—his mind wandered to that. It wasn’t something he had ever given much thought to, now that he thought about it. There had always been more important things. There had been the company to steal and then run. There had been rivals to crush. There had been deals to make and people to look out for and interests to pursue and futures to make way for.  
But when had he taken the time to consider how he might…feel about certain things?  
God, now that he thought about it, he knew more about Lena’s sexuality than he did his own!  
Or was that answer enough?  
Lex had to hand it to Clark: he was the only man he knew of that could so totally disarm him like this.  
“So, uh, I guess, what I’m tryin’ to say is…Oh, heck, I guess it’d be better to just show you, huh?”  
Lex went completely red-faced as Clark slowly began to unbutton his shirt. Moving faster than he ever had before, Lex got up from his chair and placed his palm against Clark’s chest—which, now that he was getting a good feel for it, he had to admit had developed spectacularly. He had to find out Clark’s routine…  
“C-Clark,” he managed, taking a moment to regain that air of utter composure he so painstakingly maintained at all times, “Clark, I’m… I’m flattered, I really am. And I am so thankful that you felt safe enough to… to tell me. Please know that I will always love you and be your friend and this changes nothing between us. Now, this is not a no, per se, I just… I need to… To… Why are you looking at me like that?”  
Clark’s own cheeks were flushed and his own eyes wide as the two men stared at each other, realization passing between them, if unspoken. Clearing his throat, Lex pulled away from Clark, keeping his gaze strictly as far away from his friend as he possibly could.  
This had certainly been a day for surprises…  
“Um…”  
“Uh…”  
Clark put a hand on Lex’s shoulder which, a bit reflexively, he shrunk away from.  
“Uh…Lex, I… I didn’t mean to… To out you like that. I’m so sorry…”  
“You didn’t ‘out’ me, Clark. You…” Lex scrunched up his face. “Well, I don’t quite know what that was, but you’ve given me a lot to think about and I think it’s best for the two of us if we just drop it for now, okay? Okay. Thank you.”  
Clark had not given any answer but was content enough to respect his friend’s request. He only hoped that, eventually, Lex would feel comfortable enough to talk to him about it.  
“So…” Lex said, clearing his throat and turning to Clark again, “What was it that you wanted to talk about? I mean, unless I didn’t get it entirely wrong…”  
“Oh! Oh, no. No, it wasn’t anythin’ like that. I mean, it is somethin’ I’ve thought about before, but I… Um, that is… Anyway, no. No, I wanted to… To let you know somethin’ ‘cause you’re my best friend and I… Well, it didn’t feel right keepin’ somethin’ like this from my best friend is all.”  
Clark once again moved his hands to his buttons and started undoing them, grimacing apologetically at Lex for before. As he watched Clark undo his top, his expression changed from one of embarrassment to confusion to…awe.  
Beneath the flannel, there now stood a bright, blue swath of fabric with an even-brighter emblem contrasted against it: a diamond-shape containing a swooping S.  
For a moment, Lex reached out a hand and touched the emblem, working through some questions in his mind before, with a jolt of realization, he pulled out his phone and swiped through his pictures. At last, he came to the one he had been searching for and held it up now against the image of Clark standing before him.  
It was of poor quality and blurry, as was only to be expected, but now that he could see it side-by-side, the image was undeniable: the man flying in the photograph was wearing a bright blue-and-red costume and bore some kind of symbol on his chest. A symbol which looked remarkably like the one before him now.  
“I… don’t believe it…” Lex breathed, staring between the photo and his best friend, “You… You’re the flying man?”  
“It’s, uh… It’s ‘Superman,’ actually…”  
“Hmm… the name could certainly use some marketing work… I’ll have one of my…”  
The withering look from Clark was enough to stop that train of thought in its tracks.  
“Alright, fine. I won’t have one of my ad people look into it. It’s fine. But… But this is…! Can I… see the whole thing?”  
“Oh, sure!” Clark beamed, happily unbuttoning his fly and stripping down completely, the two of them blissfully engrossed in their own little world and completely ignorant both of how this would have looked to an outside observer and also how much this contrasted with the scene just minutes prior.  
Lex screwed up his face in disgust when Clark was finished and had folded his discarded clothes neatly over the back of his chair.  
Whatever grandeur he had managed to conjure up with the first reveal was completely lost now. In fact, it appeared as though that initial swath of fabric was the only part of this costume which had remained utterly pristine. Obviously patch jobs had been sewn throughout, seams of mismatched thread starkly contrasted against the varied shades of blue, and there was obvious evidence of damage over nearly every inch of the thing. Scorch marks could still be visible where one patch of fabric had been applied to the original, and there were enough small holes peppered along the costume that Lex was convinced that Clark had given no consideration to how fast he might have been going, or to how winds aloft might have affected his outfit. This disastrous ensemble was not in the least bit helped by what appeared to be a pair of red shorts that Clark had decided to wear over the rest of it.  
And was that one boot a different shade of red than the other?  
No.  
No, this wouldn’t do.  
This wouldn’t do at all.  
“So,” Clark said, grinning from ear-to-ear, “What do you thi—?”  
“No. Nope. Uh-uh. We’re starting over.”  
“W-what? What do you—?”  
“Are you certain this is the design you want to go with? Oh, who am I kidding. It’s you. You probably designed this yourself and would burst into tears if I dared to suggest nixing the cape.”  
“…you don’t like the cape?”  
“Alright, let’s see. Well, I will give you that the color balance is superb, but otherwise this whole thing is a wash. And that emblem? Please, we can do better, Clark. Alright, just come over here for a moment. Yes. Yes, right there. Thank you.”  
Clark, still in a bit of a daze, found himself moved bodily across the room as Lex shoved him forward and in front of a wall which, at the press of a button, opened up to reveal a series of complex-looking computer equipment. Apparently in the whole rigamarole there was a camera as Clark now watched as the monitors displayed an image of him standing there in real-time; to his mind, it looked as though Lex had spent a lot of money on reinventing the mirror. As Lex walked over to a monitor, a wireframe model began to map itself over the image of Clark, tightening against his contours until this image, much like the one in the lobby, was projected as a three-dimensional hologram which rippled slightly when Clark placed a finger against it.  
“Don’t touch it.”  
“Sorry.”  
“Alright, let’s see what we can do about this…”  
Immediately, Lex went to work with stylus and screen, painting over the wireframe model. Using Clark’s previous costume as a base, he steadily made improvements on the overall design, streamlining it and, at the very least, ensuring that all of the components matched. Clark, who at first had seemed downtrodden by all of this, little by little perked up as he watched Lex work until he was giddily bouncing at the update to his own design and, as Clark was wont to do, happily making suggestions and comments about changes to make.  
Lex, for the most part, ignored these, but did his best to keep the suit as… Clark-like as he could.  
“Are you completely sold on the color for your emblem?”  
“What do you mean, Lex? What’s wrong with the red and yellow?”  
“Nothing per se. But we want it to really pop, don’t we? Why not…”  
He made a few strokes, inverting the colors. Then, with a smirk, he changed the projected material, swapping out the yellow fabric for a nice, metallic gold.  
Clark’s eyes lit up like stars.  
“Thought you’d like that…”  
When all of this was done, Lex uploaded the design into the computer and booted up the printer which immediately began chugging away. In celebration, Lex poured himself a highball. He began to pour another for Clark before, thinking better of it, he found some club soda and handed it to the man, instead.  
“Wow…” Clark said, totally awed by the sight in front of him, “Wish we had had this back on the farm. Would’ve saved me a lot of finger-pricks…”  
“You sewed your costume, yourself?”  
“We all did. I mean, I wasn’t about to let Ma and Pa do it alone!”  
Lex shook his head, chuckling.  
“I’ve missed your exuberance, Clark…”  
The two of them sat in silence for a while as they each nursed their drink, Clark completely enraptured by the printing process. Lex, too, watched the machine at work, though his mind drifted to other thoughts.  
“So,” Lex finally broached when the torso had been completed, “How are you doing it?”  
“Doin’ what?”  
“Flying. Your suit doesn’t look advanced enough for it to be technological, so I doubt it’s that. Are you a Mutant? Was there some kind of, I don’t know, accident?”  
“Oh, no, nothin’ like that.” Clark laughed and took another sip of his drink. When it seemed clear that Lex was not going to let him leave it at that, he blushed a little and then continued on. “Well… Heh, it’s funny. I’ve actually been doin’ this for a few years now. It’s true! Ever since I… came into my powers or whatever you want to call it, I’ve felt this… this need to help people. And I just find it funny that I managed to keep everythin’ about me a secret for all that time in Smallville—and you know how small a community that is, so that’s impressive!—and yet here I am, seein’ you again for the first time since it’s happened and I want to tell you everything. It’s just funny…”  
Clark took another sip of his drink before setting it aside.  
“I don’t know everything, Lex. I… I wish I did. But… But, there is somethin’ I know and I don’t want it to change anything between us.”  
“Clark, if that fiasco earlier didn’t change anything, nothing will. This is… a safe space.”  
Clark smiled.  
“Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better. Well… I guess I should just say it then. Turns out that I… I might not be from around here. I mean, Earth. My parents found me out in the fields during a meteor shower and… and, well, I guess I was in some kinda pod? They didn’t really know how to describe it and accordin’ to them it just sort of… vanished afterward? I don’t really know. B-But I do have somethin’ from wherever I came from! It’s back at my place. It’s this little… I don’t know, it’s a thing. A goober. We couldn’t figure out how it works, but we think it’s probably some kind of computer or somethin’. Some kind of alien USB drive. And… uh… that’s that, I guess. It’s why I have these powers, I think. Somethin’ to do with alien DNA or something.”  
“You… You’re an alien.”  
“Heh yeah. I know. Surprising, ain’t it? I mean, I suppose it could be somethin’ to do with time travel, if that’s a thing. But my bet’s on alien.”  
Lex sat in silence for a long time, which Clark was more than happy to give him. It had been a lot for him to process when his parents had told him, and he had had the benefit of actually living that life. He had had some inkling that he was different.  
For Lex, this must have been a total shock.  
The suit was nearly finished by the time Lex’s phone began to ring. The two of them had sat in silence the entire time so that, when it rang, Lex looked as though he was woken from some sort of trance. His expression soured as he looked down at the number, and Clark was only able to make out that the ID read “DRAUPNIR.”  
“I’m sorry, Clark, I have to take this. Excuse me for a moment.”  
“No prob, buddy!”  
Lex left his friend to his drink as he transferred the call to his headset, booted up the translation program, and stepped out onto the terrace.  
“What is it?” he asked sourly.  
“Is something the matter, Alexander? Your tone…”  
“It’s nothing. I’m sorry. A personal matter. What do you need?”  
“It’s been several hours, Alexander, and you haven’t given me any updates regarding the flying man. Now, I have been gracious enough to forgive you for these missed reports, but my patience has run out. Do you have any new information regarding the subject?”  
Lex fell silent for just a moment.  
His eyes, half-lidded and steely as they were, gazed out over the skyline of his city, towards the setting sun. The first stars of the night had begun to twinkle into existence.  
When he spoke, there was no hesitation in his voice. There never had been.  
He already knew the answer before he said it.  
“Still nothing.”  
A displeased noise came from the other end.  
“That is unfortunate, but thank you for your diligence. I’m sorry to hear you are having personal issues. You may take the night and report back to me, tomorrow. I shall hope that we have some more information by then.”  
“Thank you for your generosity.”  
Lex hung up the call and could feel his heart beating in his ears. His expression did not change as his breath came on faster and faster, his grip on his cane a little less sure.  
His concentration was broken by a light knock on the glass.  
“Is everything alright?” Clark’s voice came muffled from the other side of the doors. Lex took a deep breath and regained his composure, opening the doors himself as he stepped back inside with a slight smile.  
“It’s nothing you need to worry about. Just one of those business deals, you know how it is. I’ll be fine. Come on. Let’s see how it fits, Mr. Martian…”


End file.
